Page 70 of Fighting the Forbidden

“Don’t you dare,” I warn.

Griff stares my brother down, challenge glittering in his eyes.

“Am I really the youngest one here?” I snatch the knife out of Remy’s hand and slam it on the counter.

“Chill.” Remy pats my shoulder. “Griff knows I’m messing with him. I’d never harm his pretty, rugged face.”

Griff snorts.

“Whatever.” I shoot a sideways glare at my brother. “Are you chopping or yapping?”

“Aye!” He salutes me, grabs the knife, and moves down a few feet where he sets up a cutting board and lays out the carrots.

Shaking my head, I start laying out chicken breasts and seasoning them. Nana used to strip the meat off of a whole chicken for this recipe, but since I don’t have one, I’m going to try it this way. And if Remy questions me, I’m going to stuff one of these raw globs of chicken in his pie hole.

The three of us work together efficiently. The boys discuss their schedule for upcoming fights at The Castle and who they want to entice into their ring of chaos. Which local underground fighter will bring in the heavy bettors. I’m rarely allowed to go there on fight nights, so I only half-listen to their conversation.

“Didn’t Murphy used to fight up there sometimes?” I ask.

“His wife won’t let him anymore,” Remy says.

“Smart woman,” I mutter.

“That’s not true.” Griff elbows my brother. “Molly doesn’t realize you’re kidding.”

“Guys, I really don’t care.” I flip the faucet on with my elbow and scrub the chicken slime off my hands. Why didn’t I find some rubber gloves or something before messing with raw chicken? Yuck. “Just trying to make conversation. What about Jake? Does he still fight up there? Or is he wifed up too?”

“No woman will have his horn-dog ass,” Remy quips. Griff just rolls his eyes. My brother shrugs. “Jake would say the same thing.”

Griff chuckles. “True.”

“You know of any promising young athletes at school?” Remy asks me.

“Pfft.” I snort. “No. Most of the guys in my class would probably pee themselves before the cage door shut behind them. Besides, they’re all too busy playing video games. Actual physical activity might put them into cardiac arrest.”

We continue like that for a while. For once, Remy doesn’t try to shut me out of the conversation. Not that it’s a secret he and Griff spend a lot of nights organizing bare-knuckle cage fights and supervising the spectators who come to bet on the fighters, but they rarely openly talk about it in front of me.

Maybe this is a good sign? That Remy realizes I’m not a little kid that he has to hide stuff from. And that I’m old enough to date his best friend.

Yeah, that last one’s probably a stretch.

* * *

The savory aromas of sage and garlic still linger in the air as I clear the last of the dishes from the table a few hours later.

“Thank you, Molly.” Remy catches my hand in one of his. With his free hand, he pats his stomach. “I’d help you but I’m too stuffed to move.” His teasing expression slips. “Nana would be so proud. You nailed her recipe.” He touches his fingertips to his lips and blows a quick kiss.

Happiness streaks through me. “Thanks.”

I can’t help glancing across the table at Griff. His eyes lock with mine. Electricity seems to crackle between us. So many unspoken desires flicker in his eyes.

Remy cocks his head and stares up at me. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.” I sigh as I collect my plate, utensils, and the now empty breadbasket. Griff’s never going to tell Remy about us, is he? Tonight would have been a perfect opportunity. We could have got it out in the open and not have had to hide how we feel.

Griff stands and picks up his plate. “You shouldn’t do the clean up after all that cooking.” He shoots a glare at my brother.

“What?” Remy shrugs. “I helped.”

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